


stained glass wings

by thingswhat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Tattoos, Massage, Tattoos, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswhat/pseuds/thingswhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Ryan still loves that he’s the only one Geoff trusts to know what all the tattoos on his back really are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stained glass wings

Beneath him, Geoff is malleable, pliant, as Ryan smoothes his hands once last time up his back. The flesh below his palms is warm from the massage and splashed with color and intricate designs that curve and spiral from neck to shoulders and down to his waist. The jut of his shoulder blades and the ridges of his spine might be softer now that Geoff’s nearly forty, but Ryan still loves the look of Geoff stretched out below him, still loves time and time again gazing down at all the detail of the tattoos and tracing each line with his fingers, with his lips, tongue, and teeth, then watching how the patterns shift as Geoff stretches and flexes in response.

And Ryan still loves that he’s the only one Geoff trusts to know what all the tattoos on his back really are.

“You should probably stretch ‘em out,” he says, but gets only a grumbly murmur in reply, Geoff not moving a bit from where his head is pillowed on his arms. Geoff’s pretty weak for massages, especially considering all the times he’s wrenched muscles after Gavin’s treated him like his own personal set of monkey bars, and the knots he gets each time he lets the workday’s Achievement Hunter antics turn him into a tensed-up knot of stress and aggravation. And well, Geoff’s pretty weak for massages because Ryan’s damned good with his hands (really, _really_ damned good if the words that spill from Geoff’s panting mouth are anything to go by; Ryan takes special pride when the things that he can do with his hands result in Geoff not being able to form words at all). 

He leans forward from where he’s straddling Geoff’s hips, palms braced against his ribs, smiling to himself at the low hum of sound the other man makes at the feel of the gentle pressure. “C’mon, you know you wanna.” Ryan curls against Geoff’s back, lips brushing the shell of Geoff’s ear as his tone shifts from persuading to teasing, voice going low and breathy, “Aren’t you the one always talking about how _good_ it feels?” And yes, there it is, a light shiver trembles through the man beneath him, then one visible eye peers balefully at him.

“You know what really feels good?” Geoff mutters, still muffled against his arms, sounding as sleepy as he usually looks. “Napping. Napping fucking feels good.”

“Yeah, yeah. And so does stretching your wings. Which, as you’ve stated on many occasions, you actually enjoy doing when your muscles are good and loose, y’know, exactly as they are now. Napping can resume after.”

Ryan can feel as much as hear Geoff’s huff. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever.” He grumbles under his breath as he starts to push himself up, then grouses, “Fuck— Get off me, you fucker, goddammit, you’re heavy, you want me up, then get off!” 

Geoff might as well have handed it to him on a silver platter. He can’t help the wicked little smirk that curls his lips. “Alright, I can do that. Far be it from me to say no to sex. But I thought you wanted to get back to your nap.”

Flailing, Geoff swats back over his shoulder at Ryan. “Goddamnit you asshole, get the hell off me so I can punch you in the dick.”

Ryan complies with a laugh. He shifts back until he’s kneeling between Geoff’s feet, dodging as he half-heartedly takes another backwards swat at him. 

“I take back everything I ever said about loving you. And about liking your massages,” Geoff whines as he gets to his hands and knees. “You’re a dick, and you just like getting me groggy so it’s easier to be a sarcastic fucker to me.” 

“I really don’t need you groggy for that to be easy.” Ryan gives his best smug expression at Geoff’s glower, grinning as Geoff flips him off and then turns back around with an exaggerated eye roll. It’s so tempting to stick his tongue out at him, pull his pigtails just a bit more; Geoff always responds _so well_.

But then Geoff takes a deep breath and arches his back, and Ryan mentally sets aside everything at this single heartbeat of a moment happening right in front of him. Between one eye blink and the next, the tattoo covering the expanse of Geoff’s back _quivers_ , and then ever so slowly, so carefully, peels away from Geoff’s skin.

Geoff’s breath stutters, and Ryan feels his catch in his throat, awe stilling his every muscle just like every time he’s been allowed to watch. The tattoos seem to float in the air, translucent and iridescent as the membranes of a dragonfly’s wings. Then they solidify, stretching and forming, and Geoff moans like he’s coming, long, drawn out, and sounding so very satisfied.

Swallowing hard around a suddenly-dry throat, Ryan is reminded that Geoff might have a point about being distracted away from his nap. The sight of Geoff like this—back bowing as the wings (bird-like, angel-like, each feather black-edged and colorful as a stained glass window, just like the tattoos on his skin) unfurl to span from one side of the room to the other, eyes fluttering and mouth open as he savors the stretch of it—it sends something electric through every one of Ryan’s nerve endings, makes his body flush with heat. The hair on his body stands on end as if the wings carried a static charge, and Ryan _wants_.

He’s not ashamed that his hands shake slightly as he wraps them around Geoff’s waist, then smoothes them up his back like he did a minute ago after the massage. Curling them over his shoulders, he places a kiss on Geoff’s spine, in the soft strip of bare skin between where the wings arc out of his back. That kiss leads to another, higher, then another at the nape of Geoff’s neck, and Ryan can’t help but nestle his hips against the curve of Geoff’s ass, his dick already firming, bracing himself against the mattress with one hand as he runs the other back down Geoff’s back to toy with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“You horny jackass.” Geoff’s giving him one of those looks as he peers over his shoulder, one of his classic ones somewhere between exasperation and annoyed cat, but his wings flap slow and relaxed, his gaze heated even as he rolls his eyes as Ryan shrugs and gives a self-deprecating, abashed grin.

“Oops? Sorry?” Ryan kisses Geoff’s shoulder again in apology, and even though Geoff is attempting to still look aggrieved, he shivers as Ryan’s breath tickles against his skin, stretching his neck to the side until Ryan takes the hint and bites lightly there. 

“You should be sorry. Oh, look at me, giving you a massage like the fucking altruist I am. Let’s take you to your happy sleepy place, Geoff. Oh, let’s make you stretch your wings, it’s good for you, Geoff. Totally not interrupting your nap for sex, Geoff.” But despite his snark, Geoff rocks back against Ryan’s erection, breath growing ragged as Ryan sucks kisses against his neck and teases his fingers under Geoff’s waistband. His wings draw in, folding in closer to his body.

Already Geoff’s mustache is mussed from when he’d pillowed his head on his arms during the massage, and Ryan wants to kiss until it’s an even worse mess. He wants his hands in Geoff’s hair until the man’s perpetual bed head is an utter wreck. And, as the tips of Geoff’s primary feathers tickle along Ryan’s body, he realizes clothes need to be absolutely immediately off so he can feel those feathers _everywhere_.

His body, though, has no patience, and he thrusts harder against Geoff’s ass. The other man chokes out a laugh past a cut-off groan, “by the way, no bitching if I knock pictures off the wall. You started this. I get a free pass.”

“If? More like when.”

“Yeah, whatever, you fuckin’ wing-fetishist. Oh, god, _fuck_. You _fucker_.” Geoff shudders, one wing snapping out sharply as Ryan bites hard at the tendon along the side of his neck. “And one,” he gasps out as Ryan finally slips his hand into Geoff’s sweatpants and grasps his cock, “one other th-thing.”

“What?” 

“Next I— _goddamn_ , I— after. After, I _get my fucking nap_.”

Ryan gives a surprised bark of laughter. “Done. And I will fucking join you.” Then he bends over Geoff to give him a deep, filthy, absolutely mustache-tousling kiss, which Geoff returns with abandon, wings stretching out colorful and wide.

And then there’s a thunk and a crash as a picture tumbles off the wall.

**Author's Note:**

> typed a phrase that sounded neat + lyrics into google. turns out 'stained glass wings' is a line from the a-ha song 'butterfly, butterfly (the last hurrah)', which was their last song before the band broke up. who knew. (and my pre-teen self is crushed, woe)


End file.
